Wedding Vows, Day 24: Dear Lover

I hope that ring slices clean through your bony finger and slimes past your toes, riding the blood it soaped up. You messed yourself. Go fuck yourself. I hope your brain explodes out of your skull, I hope the birds peck your skin off  – slowly and with deliberateness.

Wishful thinking’s a sin your momma cooked up before she blotted you out of her frame. This is my game now. My name I want to sear through your face and all through your neck brace. You head-case.

You’ll thank me, hate me, then leave me twice more – kiss me, lick me, then knock at my door, fucker.

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